


How We Align

by SublimeDiscordance



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: (sort of), Ambiguous Family Relationships, Comeplay, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Mentions of Angela Hansen, Okay maybe a little plot, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sibling Incest, mentions of polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is an asshole. Then again, Herc already knew that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How We Align

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suyari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/gifts).



> Written for the lovely suyari, because she had a bad day and so I decided that porn was, obviously, the best fix-it. The magical healing cock, obviously.
> 
> Unbeta'd and written in. Like. Two hours when I was really sleepy. So let me know if you find something wrong. I'll probably be making edits as I find errors (and I have no doubt I will find them).

Scott is an asshole. 

Herc knows this. truthfully, he's always known it.

He knew it when they were kids, chasing each other through the yard, scraped knees and knuckles stinging in the dusty wind. He knew it when they discovered what masturbation was together, and when Scott had, one day, taken things a step further and lowered his mouth onto his brother's cock. He knew it when they both fell in love with Angela, and she, in turn, fell in love with the two of them. He knew it when they conceived Chuck together, all three of them in one massive, sweaty heap beneath the sheets, too warm but too happy to care. He knew it the day Chuck was born, looking every bit the perfect blending of the three of them. 

He knew it when Angela had called as Scissure rampaged through Sydney, insisting that Herc get Scott and Chuck first, that she would meet him at the house.

He'd even known it as Scott held him that night, Chuck wrapped in his own arms, none of them saying anything, their tears evidence enough for all of them.

Admitting that he couldn't keep fighting, couldn't pilot any more because of the rush of memories the drift always brought—memories of  _Angela_ —seemed to have mellowed him out, though. It'd been the first time Scott had told Herc flat-out that he didn't think he could do something anymore. Of course, quitting wasn't exactly looked upon kindly, so there had been no fanfare for Scott's departure. Not that he had needed any. Chuck and Herc knew the truth, understood, the memory of that day haunting them all. 

Then, of course, the war had ended, and they had almost lost their son and the man who had been their bedrock since they joined the PPDC. It was only when the two additional escape pods had been pulled from the deeps, scarred and burnt but still carrying signs of life, that Scott and Herc both had allowed themselves to breathe again.

The time after the war had been confusing for them all. The Hansens had all tried to find a place where they fit in the world, a way to contribute, for their lives to carry further meaning than “The Heroes of the Breach.” Money wasn’t an issue—their pensions had expanded enough in the wake of saving the goddamn world that they could’ve probably sat on their asses all day and not have to worry. No, it was more a search for another purpose.

Instead, they found each other.

Herc’s still not sure how it happened. How, though he and Scott had been together since, fuck, since they discovered how their bodies worked together, one night, Chuck had started joining them in their bed. Oh, at first it hadn’t been anything sexual: more emotional, something to do with comfort. But then Herc had woken one morning to find his cock being sucked by what he’d _thought_ had been an overly-enthusiastic Scott, only to realize that his arm was still pinned beneath his brother’s side where the adorable bastard had cuddled into him in the night.

All it had taken was a single look down, taking in the sight of Chuck on his elbows and knees, ass in the air, lips wrapped around Herc’s dick. That alone might not have been enough, but the way Chuck had _smirked_ at him around a mouthful of cock—his _father’s_ cock—and met his gaze unwaveringly as he lowered himself down, sinking lower and lower until his lips and nose were nestled in the short, red hairs at Herc’s base...well.

There was only so much a man could take. And that? Well, that had gone well beyond Herc’s limit, and he’d spilled himself down Chuck’s throat before he could even think to say anything.

It had taken a while to sort out. Herc and Scott—whom Chuck still called Uncle Scott, even though he knew the truth about his parentage; old habits died hard—were both against it. However, when Chuck had played the “but you’re brothers and you fuck each other” card, they hadn’t exactly known what to say except to repeat “but, you’re our _son_.” Which technically was true, since they'd never done the testing so see which of them was actually the kid's father; when they'd offered, Chuck has refused. 

It had taken him two years, but, eventually, Chuck had convinced them that he didn’t care. The little bastard could be damn stubborn when he wanted. Herc knew that. Knew where he’d probably gotten it from, too.

Of course, Scott apparently found the whole thing highly amusing once it’d all been sorted out.  But that wasn’t why he was an asshole.

No, the reason Scott’s an asshole has more to do with the way he’s somehow convinced Chuck to hold Herc’s arms down as he greedily swallows down Herc's cock.

Scott, according to Chuck, is the best between the two of them at giving head. And, according to Herc’s own assessment, Scott is—unfortunately for their son’s ego—better at it than Chuck, though not for lack of trying. Which, then, logically, means that Scott is the best out of the three of them.

And he knows it.

He sinks down on Herc, lips slick with spit and stretched obscenely to accommodate Herc’s girth. Herc can feel it when he reaches Scott’s throat, feels the muscles flutter open as if welcoming home, and he can’t hold back the litany of swearing that the fluctuating pressure on his cockhead produces.

The part that absolutely kills Herc, though, is that Scott _stays_ there. Throat muscles constricting like a vise. Tongue running wetly over the shaft, massaging and caressing it. Cheeks hollowed as he _sucks_ , making Herc feel as if he's is trying to pull his very soul out through his dick.

Not once does he gag or choke. Even when he lifts back up, just as slowly, using his tongue to worship Herc’s cockhead when it reappears from the wet heat, lips never once loosening their grip, he just sucks in a single, audible breath through his nose and then continues breathing normally. Herc sometimes wonders if his brother is even human. He opens his mouth to say something, but then Chuck is right there, sliding his tongue between Herc’s parted lips and swallowing his words, their teeth clacking together at the raw _force_ of the kiss. The angle is awkward, with Chuck leaning down from above him, but neither of them seem to care. Chuck’s kisses transport Herc somewhere else, fierce and claiming enough that he almost completely forgets about Scott’s mouth on him.

But then the bastard flicks his tongue over Herc’s slit, the way he knows drives him absolutely insane.

Which means Herc feels molten warmth suddenly envelop him as he thrusts off their bed, his cock sliding easily into Scott’s willing throat as if that’d been the plan all along. He catches the edge of his brother’s molars on the way in, but the momentary sting of pain only adds to the sensations assaulting him. When Scott hums, the sound far too pleased for Herc’s liking and the vibrations travelling all the way up his spine, making his toes curl, he rips his mouth away from Chuck’s with a snarl.

“Fuckin’ get on with it, Scott, or I swear to god—”

Scott hums around him again, deeper this time, and whatever Herc’d been about to say turns into garbled, unintelligible filth. Fuck, even _he_ doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. It takes him a few seconds before he can speak again, his vision nearly graying out with pleasure as Chuck take advantage of his distraction to lean over him and start sucking a mark into his collarbone. Fucking hell, these two know him too well.

But then Scott is taking him from root to tip, effectively fucking his own mouth with Herc’s dick, as he holds Herc’s hips steady. Herc can feel his orgasm approaching, can feel his balls tightening where Scott is fondling them, rolling them between his fingers, licking—

Jesus _fuck_.

Scott is lightly tonguing at his balls—not much, but he’s _definitely_ managing, somehow, the logistics of such a feat making Herc's head spin—every time he buries Herc in his throat completely. Chuck is in the way, but Herc can imagine what his brother looks like, lips spread wide, face red from lack of oxygen, eyes gleaming as that mouth works him over—

And that’s it for him, his orgasm rushing at him like a blow from one of Striker’s fists, all concentrated power and oblivion, and—

And the pleasure _shatters_ when Scott clamps a hand on the base of his cock, grip practically bruising, the burning fragments coursing throughout his body and making him _scream_ against his son’s skin where Chuck is still leaning over his supine form. His mind whites out even as everything goes _red_ with _need_ and frustration at having been denied.

However, it’s only when Chuck sits back, the same smirk on his face that he’d worn the first time he’d sucked his dad’s dick, and Herc catches sight of a matching expression on Scott’s face that he snaps.

With a growl that would’ve sent literally anyone else in the world running for cover, Herc wrenches his arms from Chuck’s grip where they’d been held above his head. He sits up so fast his head almost spins before he lunges at his brother, his cock _throbbing_ between his legs, and pins the still-smirking asshole down with a hand around his throat.

It’s only when Scott’s entire body shivers, his eyes lighting up with something that Herc would probably describe as ecstasy when his thumb dimples his little bother's windpipe, that he realizes what’s going on.

Fucker had _planned_ this.

He’d been _played_.

Sure enough, reaching down to feel his brother’s hole where Scott’s propped his own legs back in submission, he finds him already wet and stretched, three fingers sliding in with ease.

“And when did y’do this, eh?” Herc grits the words out as if they’re something dirty, the pressure of his thumb increasing slightly, fingers crooking within the sloppy heat. Scott makes a delighted little whimpering sound before he answers.

“B-before you— _nggh_ —before you got home. Chucky was _most_ helpfu— _fuck_ , _Le’_ —”

Herc grins and continues rubbing against the firm nub beneath his fingertips, relishing in the gasps and moans Scott makes. The way his lips form the childhood nickname he’d given Herc when he was two that’d never really gone away, though which only really makes an appearance anymore when his brother is utterly _wrecked_. Hearing it sends chills up Herc’s spine; not even Chuck is allowed to call him that. Only Scott.

“You like that, baby?” Herc croons for his brother, adds the pet name into mix; loves the way it makes Scott’s entire body shudder beneath him. “ ‘M I making you feel good?”

“Oh _fuck_ , _yes_ , Le’, _plea—_ ”

He doesn’t even let Scott finish the word. Without preamble or a hand to guide him, Herc lines himself up and snaps his hips forward, sinking into the heat of his brother’s body all at once. He doesn’t even pause, simply pulls himself completely back out, his cock now glistening wetly with slick, before driving himself back in and repeating the motion.

Herc is not gentle in the way he takes Scott.

And Scott, Herc knows, wouldn't have it any other way.

He continues slamming his cock into his brother’s pliant body, Scott’s eyes rolling in their sockets as he practically _writhes_ with pleasure. They’ve been at this long enough that Herc knows exactly which angles will rut against his brother’s prostate and which will, maddeningly, avoid it entirely. He sets up a pace where he does the latter, taking his fill from Scott until his brother whimpers in frustration, and then he rewards him by shifting and giving him a barrage of mind-numbing pleasure. Of course, the second he feels his brother start to tighten around him, hears his breathing hitch, he switches back, denying Scott his release. Turnabout and all that.

At some point, he’s aware of Chuck moving up towards Scott’s head, fisting his fingers in his uncle’s hair, and shoving him down on his cock. Chuck may not be as big around as his father, but he’s by no means small, and Scott _does_ gag at first before he hums so deeply Herc can feel it where he’s fucking into his brother.

And, of course, when Chuck slips into Scott’s throat and Herc feels his son’s dick through Scott’s neck, he presses down, drawing the most delicious sounds out of both of them.

Herc never slows. Never relents. Just loses himself in the pleasure of his brother’s body, leaning down to tongue at the seam between Scott’s lips and Chuck’s cock.

“You like that?” The words are harsh, rough, interspersed with ragged exertion. “You like me using your hole like my own personal fucktoy?” The whimper he gets in answer spurns him further on, glowing green slits meeting him as his brother cracks his eyes open from where they’d fallen shut. “This what you wanted, baby? Wanted me tearing you open, holding you down,” his hand on Scott’s throat tightens incrementally, “fucking you until I’m fuckin’ satisfied? Is that what you wanted?”

Scott looks like he’s about to answer, but, instead, his eyes widen in surprise, and then Herc tastes his son’s release, spilling from the edge of Scott’s mouth as Chuck comes down his throat.

He’d meant to drag it out longer, meant to make Scott _beg_ for it, but the surprise of it sets him over the edge. Herc bites his own lip to keep from biting his own son’s dick as he grunts and spills himself deep within his brother.

When his vision comes back, still panting, Herc slips himself from Scott’s gaping hole. His brother whines, but Herc puts a finger to his lips and shushes him, smiling lazily.

“I won’t forget you, baby,” he whispers, hoisting Scott’s body into the air and leaning down to gently tongue at the abused muscles of his brother’s ass. His brother tastes faintly of lube and Herc’s come, but otherwise clean; clearly, he’d thought this out. The only other flavor Herc detects is the one he knows and loves, the flavor that is distinctly _Scott_ , and he groans as it explodes across his taste buds, diving in to get more of it. He licks into his brother, and the noises Scott makes are probably considered unholy in some religion somewhere.

All it takes is a single finger alongside his tongue, the digit rubbing relentlessly against Scott’s prostate, to get his brother to come. Chuck, ever the good boy, obligingly licks the mess off his uncle’s torso and face.

They all huddle together, trading lazy kisses until the taste of their collective release mingles on their tongues and their breathing evens out.

So, sure, Scott’s an asshole.

But Herc loves him anyway.


End file.
